


Castle on a Cloud

by midas_touch_of_angst



Series: A Series of Unfortunate Events - One Shots [12]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Character Study, Child Abuse, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23596279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midas_touch_of_angst/pseuds/midas_touch_of_angst
Summary: The Woman with Hair but No Beard nodded. “Infant servants are so troublesome,” she said. “I had an infant servant once — a long time ago, before the schism.”“Before the schism?” Olaf said, and Sunny wished Klaus were with her, because the baby did not know what the word “schism” meant. “That is a long time ago. That infant must be all grown up by now.”“Not necessarily,” the woman said, and laughed again.
Relationships: Mr. Quagmire/Mrs. Quagmire (A Series of Unfortunate Events)
Series: A Series of Unfortunate Events - One Shots [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542739
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	Castle on a Cloud

She was eight when she got to go outside.

She’d never known anything but the walls of their house. Her and Ma’am’s house. Since she could remember, she’d been here. She knew the house better than she knew herself; it was old, but firm, and wouldn’t fall apart any time soon. It was more reliable than she was, or Ma’am was, and she could get around it without making any noise, without being spotted, without anyone knowing she was there. So long as she kept her head down and kept quiet, Ma’am wouldn’t have to punish her. 

She sometimes ran into Ma’am in the kitchen, when she went for her daily meal, and she’d wait until Ma’am was done in there before finding her food. She remembered rare instances when Ma’am would eat with her; she’d lift her up to wash her hands before they ate, and then she’d brush her hair afterwards. She sometimes wondered if her hair being brushed was punishment for something, because it knotted and tangled over weeks, and getting it undone took forever and made her scream and cling to the table. Ma’am would tell her she should really be more careful and take better care of herself, but she couldn’t find her own brushes and hairbrushing hurt no matter what so why bother? She had more important things to do, anyway. 

She had to clean the cupboards, and scrub the floors, and wash the windows, and wash the sheets and blankets and check the curtains and do the dishes and dust the furniture, which Ma’am once told her was older than she ever would be. She’d had it drilled into her that everything in this house was important and old and expensive- she’d been taught about money when she was behaving and Ma’am was bored, in case Ma’am would need her to run and buy something (she never did), and she’d been assured that the house and its items were worth quite a lot. She had to be careful not to break or chip or crack anything. If Ma’am found damage around the house, even if it wasn’t her fault, she’d be punished unless Ma’am saw another culprit right in front of her. It was her fault, anyway, she should take better care of things. 

She couldn’t complain about anything, though. Mother gave her new clothes once a year and made sure she was bathed and fed, and in return she took care of the house. That was the deal, that was how things worked. And nobody ever seemed bothered, so this must be normal- when Ma’am had the occasional company over, sometimes they’d give her a passing glance, or a tut that she should look cleaner, but nothing more. 

When morning came, she would wake up and wash her face the way Ma’am had shown her, and then she would clean and dust and do her best to do her work well. If she got done early, she’d clean herself, or hide in the room that had been designated as hers; it was small, and her blanket and pillow she used as a bed took up most of it, but nobody ever came to that room, so it was all hers. Sometimes she opened the window and looked outside; it didn’t look as bad as Ma’am said, though it was a bit scary at times. Sometimes water fell from the sky, sometimes frozen water, sometimes the clouds turned dark and made loud noises and made her shake and cover her ears and sob into her pillow so that Ma’am wouldn’t hear and be angry. But sometimes it was beautiful; after the water, sometimes the sun shone enough that pretty colors appeared in the sky, and there were _birds._ The birds were her favorite, even though Ma’am hated them, said they were obnoxious and loud and should be shooed away if they came near. But when things were quiet and she had time to herself, she would open the window and listen to the birds, and watch them fly, fly away into the wide sky. 

When she was six, she met her first bird, because she’d been staring out the window that night, and one landed beside her on the sill. She’d frozen, as she tended to do when afraid- when frozen, nobody saw you, their eyes passed right over. The bird fluttered its wings and cocked its head and made a noise- a caw. It was a bird black as night, and it crept closer to her, and she slowly reached out a palm. The bird hopped on, and preened itself for a while, before flying away. And she had loved that _so much,_ it had been the most exciting thing to happen, she’d hugged her pillow to her chest and whispered to it that the birds liked her. 

Every now and again, after that, birds would stop by. She started to give them little names- the blue birds were Vases, like the one in the dining room, the brown birds the Rugs, like the one decorating the foyer. But she liked the Nights best- the black birds like the one that had fluttered to her first. 

This was her life until she was about eight. She didn’t know she was eight, of course, she had no real concept of her age. Ma’am had guests over in the dining room, and she was sweeping the living room for most of their meal, and when she was sure nobody was looking she would spin with the broom, pretending to dance like the leaves, or like the balls Ma’am said she had gone to. Ma’am hadn’t shown her how to dance, just said that she’d done it, but she liked to imagine it was like the leaves falling. 

She stopped dancing when she almost hit the bookshelf- she wasn’t allowed to take the books from their place, and she sometimes wondered what was inside them that was so dangerous or breakable that only adults could have them. By then, she heard noises from the dining hall, and decided she better bring out dessert as Ma’am had instructed. She brought out the cake and pushed it onto the table, and Ma’am told her to go stand somewhere until it was time to clean the dishes, so she went into the corner and decided to do another check of the curtains. As she did, she heard a bit of conversation behind her; the two people at the end were laughing to each other about some “game,” and three women in the middle of the table were talking about how best to put their hair up- she didn’t care about either of those conversations, though, as games hadn’t interested her since Ma’am told her that five was too old to play with string, and she couldn’t care less about anything hair-related. But the man sitting beside Ma’am- he had a similar feeling to her, a similar vibe that he was in charge, in control. He had watched her bring the cake in, and she felt his eyes on her as she ran her hands over the fabric, looking for moth holes or dirt or webbing. 

“What’s the deal with her?” 

Ma’am had to put down her wine before responding. “Deal? She cleans the house.” There was a pause, and then, “If you want her for a while, I’ll bargain a price.” 

“Isn’t your daughter getting a bit old to be here alone?”

“She’s not my daughter, and I don’t care much.” 

“You know our headquarters needs more recruits. Our side of the organization-” 

“The _right_ organization. I don’t know what these fools are thinking, splitting us up. We’re the same, they just want to pretend they’re superior.” 

“We need more recruits, and you know it.” 

“And I need her to keep the house.” 

She moved to the next window, straining her ears to listen and not sure why she did. 

“The house can last by itself for a few months. Just have her trained in case we need an extra spy or assassin.” 

A pause, and then Ma’am muttered, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for her to learn more about our work. Then maybe she would do her job a bit better. It takes her all day to do the simplest of chores.” 

She would not see the house for a very long time after that. It turned out that Ma’am enjoyed not having a child to look after, so she hired a maid and that was that. 

On her first day of school, Ma’am instructed her to do everything her instructors told her, and to keep her head low and to not talk to strange children. She gave her a new outfit, one that was cleaner and warmer than the others, and she brushed her dark hair and pinned it so it no longer fell in her face, to make a good first impression. 

“And remember. You are there because I allow you to be there.” Ma’am had said, squeezing her shoulder a bit too tight. “Do not make a fool of me.” 

She had nodded and muttered her _yes ma’am_ s and _I’ll be careful ma’am_ s and then she was off. Ma’am held her hand to keep her from wandering off, but when Ma’am was distracted, she would step into the grass, marvelling at how it squished beneath her, or run her hand across a fence or a pole. When they stopped at a parking lot, waiting for their ride, she saw a Nightbird, landing on a tree. It cocked its head at her and cawed again, a familiar caw, and when she was certain Ma’am was distracted, she made a faint imitation. She had gotten pretty good at imitating their calls. 

They got into a long, black car, and she bounced on the seats until Ma’am slapped her arm to get her to stop. She played with the seatbelt and breathed on the window to fog it up and kicked her legs into the air, fascinated by the movement of the vehicle beneath her. She’d never been in a car before, it was all very new and interesting to her. 

When they reached the school, the most interesting thing happened: she heard her name for the first time. 

Ma’am said it when she dropped her off, waving her hand and introducing her. She had frozen a moment, running the name over in her head while the instructor went over some things with Ma’am, and then Ma’am was gone, and she was taken to another room, and she was given her first box of matches and told that they were off to practice burning different material to see what was most effective. 

For the first two years she was there, she did as Ma’am told her. She kept her head low, and she did what she was told. She didn’t talk to the other children, and they didn’t talk to her- though sometimes she wondered about them. Some students seemed delighted at the fires they made and devices they created and weapons they learned to use, racing and laughing and doing extra work by picking a child and practicing their combat skills on them in the hall. Other children looked more scared than she had ever felt, trembling and crying in the dorms at night, but eventually they numbed and followed along, or they disappeared somewhere and weren’t seen again. 

She had her own secrets, though, her own things she kept to herself. She kept her name; nobody ever said it, unless the teachers wanted her to answer a question, but it was _hers,_ and she liked that there was something she had been designated, something to be called. She whispered it to herself until she memorized all the different ways to say it, and she made sure she would never forget. 

And she had the birds. 

When she had a free period, and was not doing extra work, she would sneak out the back door. Behind them was a wood- a vast, great wood, spanning for what seemed like forever. She would roll in the grass and crawl through bushes and climb the trees- she loved to climb, she loved getting as high as she could without wings. But most important in the woods were the birds. It took months, but eventually they came to her like the ones back at the house had done. She learned to imitate their calls, and learned what the different ones ate and sounded like and acted like. She’d learned their names in one of her classes- the Vases were Bluejays, and the Rugs were Robins, and the Nights were Crows, or sometimes Ravens. She sometimes whispered to them that they had secret names, too, and did they know that? Did they learn their names? 

This was her life until she was ten; she learned her birthday when the instructors gave her extra dessert, and told her it was because she was a year older. It was actually her tenth birthday when she met the boy. 

She had snuck into the woods, and sat on a log, letting the wind blow around her. Her hair blew around her, and she ran her hands over the bark, and then she called for her birds. A few chirps, a few whistles. The birds flocked, and she reached into her pocket and spread out the crumbs she’d gotten off the tables. The birds ate, then, and she spread some more on the log beside her, smiling as they hopped over. She knew what it was like to be hungry, and she wouldn’t deprive her birds of treats. 

One of them chirped a happy song at her, and she smiled and imitated, before starting to hum her own song. The instructors sang sometimes, and there was a class she hadn’t taken yet where they learned songs and performance skills, and she sometimes heard them practice. She liked a lot of the music, but mostly the ones she could repeat to her birds. She hummed a while, kicking her legs and watching her birds. 

Carefully, she practiced her singing. A few notes, not even words. Just the melody. _Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah-ah._

And then she heard another voice call back. 

_Ah-ah, ah-ah._

Panic gripped her, and as the birds took off, startled at the unfamiliar voice, she leaped backwards over the log, throwing herself to the ground and curling up against the bark, keeping her head down and hugging her knees. 

She had never been _told_ not to wander into the woods, but she doubted the instructors would like how she was spending her time, instead of practicing her acrobatics or her archery or lighting books on fire. 

She heard footsteps approach, and then the notes again, echoing back to her. _“Ah-ah, ah-ah-ah!”_

A pause. Then more singing. _“Ah-ah…”_

She didn’t recognize the voice, though she didn’t pay much attention to the voices of her classmates. There were more footsteps and then… 

“Hey! Don’t wander off! We’ve got to be back in town with those herbs by nightfall.” 

Another voice. A girl, maybe. She listened some more, curiosity overwhelming her for an instant. 

“I heard someone singing.” 

“Pfft, who would be in these woods?” 

“We are.” 

“And we’re volunteering. There isn’t a path here, so nobody walks, which is why our garden’s here. Hurry up and help me get it all, and then you can go back to your creative writing stuff.” 

“It’s not _stuff,_ I, I’m studying-” 

“I don’t care, if I don’t get this back in time my chaperone will have a cow.” 

“Fine, fine. But I swear someone’s here. Maybe there’s another town on the other side of the woods?” 

“Well, do you see anyone?” 

“No-” 

“Then nobody’s here. Come on.” 

She waited until the footsteps dimmed, before peering her head over the log. She caught a flash of the boy before he disappeared around the tree, having an argument with a girl, but an argument that didn’t seem dangerous, which was a bit bewildering. The boy had brown hair, she noted, and a jacket much fancier than she’d seen at training. A new boy. 

She wondered for a while, when she went back, if she should tell someone. That there were kids in the woods, kids talking about volunteering. She had heard her instructors make fun of that word a few times, so she knew it was bad, but… she also didn’t want to admit she fed the birds and had a place to herself. A place all her own. So she kept quiet. 

The next week, she was back in the woods. She’d gotten to the point where she could visit daily, which was good, as the birds were finishing their nests; they’d have eggs soon, so they’d need more food. Every day, she hummed and sang, but received no response, so she decided that it must have been a surprising but unrepeated incident, the boy in her woods. 

But the week later, she was humming a little and scattering seeds she’d stolen from the garden, and she heard more footsteps. She wasted no time, racing to the nearest tree as the birds fled and hiding behind it, holding herself still. 

She heard the footsteps get very close, and then stop. Then a slide, and a thump. Someone was sitting on the other side of the tree. 

She waited forever, but the person did not move. She heard the sounds of paper, a few sounds of scratching, but no sounds of leaving. After a while, she stepped a bit to the side, and grabbed the lower branch, hoisting herself up just as a gust of wind blew by, rustling the leaves to disguise the noises she made. She crept up a few branches, and then found the part of the tree with the most foliage, the most cover. She got to the edge, and peered down. 

It was that boy again, the boy from before. He was under her tree, with a pencil he was twirling in one hand while he held his book with the other, a book he wasn’t burning. He had a paper bag beside him, but that seemed to be it. 

She took a risk and crept a little farther, peering down. There were words scattered across that page, not that she could know what they meant. She studied the boy a moment, he was bouncing his leg, and kept moving the pencil around his fingers, and then back down, and then back around. He seemed to always be moving in some way. 

“You know,” came his voice, “I know you’re there.” 

She froze over completely, and felt her stomach drop. A million thoughts washed over her head, that she was caught, that she’d done something bad, that… 

“You can come on down. I brought an extra apple in case I ran into you. You’re the singing girl, right?” 

The shock of his words brought her right out of her panic. An extra apple? Extra food? Come on down? This was some kind of trick, right? A joke, like the ones the bullies used on the smaller children. But… well, if she stayed in the tree, he knew where she was, he could just find her there. Maybe if she cooperated it would go better. 

She swung herself down, landing right in front of him, and she cocked her head, peeking at his face. He was cleaner than she was, and his hair was short, so it didn’t fall in his eyes like hers did. It was darker than it had looked last week, but his eyes were what she locked onto. They were blue, blue like the sky that her birds flew to. 

“Hi.” he said. He seemed to be about her age. “What’s your name?” 

She hesitated, still watching him. Was he going to yell at her now? What was he waiting for? 

He shrugged and said, “You don’t have to tell me. In my- well, people where I’m from just go by initials. But I still have food.” He pulled his bag to him, and started digging through. “I’ve been going into the woods for lunch and reading the last few days, hoping that- ah, here. Do you want red or green?” 

She still stared. 

“I’ll give you red, those are the better ones.” he took it out, and held out the apple for her. 

Carefully, she sat in front of him, looking down at his book, then at his bag, and then finally at the apple. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” he said. 

Slowly, she took the food. She rolled it in her hands, wondering if it was poisoned. 

“You can go ahead and eat, I was about to break to eat anyway.” he pulled the green apple out, taking a bite. She carefully imitated him, surprised at how much better the apple tasted than the ones she’d had before. “Do you like it? I can bring something you’d like next.” Next? “Do you talk? It’s okay if you don’t.” 

She narrowed her eyes. Of course she talked. She just only spoke when spoken to, like you were supposed to. 

“But you are the singing girl, right?” he paused, and then sang, _“Ah-ah, ah-ah.”_

She stared at him, with a bit of wonder, and then she responded. _“Ah-ah, ah-ah-ah.”_

“Yeah!” he beamed. “Oh, I is going to be so mad that I was right. She always says because she’s older she’s right, but… do you have siblings? Do you live nearby?” 

She glanced down at the book. 

“Have you read this? It’s Tom Sawyer. There’s some bad words in it but my chaperone says that so long as I don’t repeat them I should be fine. But I brought my poetry book, too. Campbell Scott. Have you read his works?” 

She leaned over, tracing a line with her finger. She knew she should ask why he wasn’t burning it, but instead, she found herself saying, “What’s it say?” 

“Oh, you can talk!” he looked overjoyed for a moment, and then confused. “Wait, what do you mean?” 

She traced the line again. “What’s… it say?” 

“Can’t you read it?” 

She shook her head. 

“You can’t read?” 

Another shake. Why was he so surprised? Only the adults read, and only important files and things. 

“Well, okay! I can teach you.” he moved, then, scooting beside her, and he reached into his jacket, pulling out yet another book- only this one was blank, and he flipped to a page and wrote a letter. “So, this is ‘A’ it stands for the sound ‘ah.’ Like at the beginning of apple.” He held up the apple as if to make a point. 

“Ah.” she repeated. 

“Yep! This is the capital, and this is the lowercase. Capital marks the beginning of a sentence or something important- and you look confused. I can slow down.” He drew the lowercase, and then passed her the notebook. “Here, practice writing the As.” 

She glanced at him as he held out the pencil to her, and then slowly took it, copying the shape. 

“You’ve got it, yeah!” 

He seemed very excited, and she managed a bit of a smile. He didn’t seem to want to punish her for anything; he seemed happier than anyone she’d known, really. 

“Oh, my name’s Logan. What’s yours?” 

She considered, and then looked over at him. 

Yeah, he could probably be trusted with her name. 

“Branwen.” she pronounced, very slowly. 

“Branwen.” his eyes went wide. “That’s beautiful.” After she wrote some more _a_ s, he took the pencil and said, “Wanna see how to write your name?” 

She stared at him a while, and then nodded. 

The next few years, she met with the boy in the woods. 

It wasn’t every day; sometimes she couldn’t sneak out, sometimes he couldn’t, or sometimes they came at the wrong time and missed each other. But she sat with him under the same tree, after feeding her birds, and he brought books and notebooks and pencils and taught her how to read. She learned fast, and soon he was helping her with sentence structure and grammar. After about a year, he started teaching her Hebrew, too, and she would practice her writing when it was muddy, sketching with a stick until someone came by or smuggling paper into her room. She liked writing her name most of all, but when she learned how to spell _Logan,_ that turned out to be quite fun, too. She liked _g_ s and _q_ s, liked the little swirl she could make at the bottom. 

The first poem she read, it was a few months after their first meeting. Logan had brought his poetry book of Campbell Scott, and he said she was getting so good that she should read to him. She sat down there, as the baby birds chirped overhead in the branches, and read. 

_The winds that on the uplands softly lie,  
_ _Grow keener where the ice is lingering still_  
_Where the first robin on the sheltered hill  
_ _Pipes blithely to the tune, “When Spring goes by!”_

She smiled, and said, “I know robins. The brown birds.” 

He nodded excitedly. “I’ve seen you with the birds. You’re really good with them, it’s _so_ cool.” 

“Is it?” 

“Uh, yeah! Birds don’t just trust people like that. You’re like a princess or something.” 

“Princess.” she repeated. She liked that. She’d never thought of herself as that impressive before. 

Eventually he asked more about her. She knew that her training was secret, though she knew not for what reason, so she kept it simple. She was schooled just on the other end of the woods. They paid more attention to physical activity than actual education. She didn’t have a family. 

“Just Ma’am.” 

“That’s a weird thing to call your Mom.” 

“She’s not my Mom, I don’t think. I clean her house for her.” 

He looked a bit confused, but nodded. When she asked about him, she got similarly vague answers- he was studying under a chaperone, he lived in a nearby town with this girl, I, and her chaperone, and he was hoping to become a writer and do good things in the world as an adult. He sometimes invited her to the town to meet his chaperone, but she declined; she knew better than to wander off that far. 

He brought more books to her- fiction, nonfiction, easy and hard. Over the years, he sat with her and they read together. They started with simple books, and he liked to bring her ones about birds, so he could see her eyes light up and listen to her excitedly tell her birds what facts she’d learned about them. 

When she was thirteen, he brought I to visit her. 

I had come along to gather plants, and he sheepishly introduced them, as she crept along the forest floor and looked curiously at the new arrival. 

I had been a little stiff, and then asked to speak to Logan alone. They went behind a tree while the girl was handed a book about a young spy, the first in a trilogy, and she listened. 

“So, what, you’ve been telling her-” 

“I’m not telling her secrets. I’m just teaching her stuff. I- I think she comes from a bad home, and I wanna help.” 

“Then bring her to our chaperones.” 

“She doesn’t wanna go into town. I don’t wanna make her uncomfortable.” 

“How long has this been going on?” 

“Three years?” 

“Three- holy hell, L.” 

“Look, she’s just a friend. Please don’t tell our chaperones, they’ll want to talk to her and they’ll scare her, I know they will.” 

A sigh. “You totally owe me.” 

“Thank you!” 

He returned, and Branwen smiled up at him. 

“How you doing?” 

She hesitated, and then just said, “I like being friends.” 

“Well, I sure hope so.” he sat beside her. “Otherwise I’d’ve been bothering you for, like, forever.” 

“You don’t bother me.” she giggled. She looked over at I, still standing against the trees, and said, “Would you like to read with us?” 

I sighed. “Sure. Why not?” 

I came on occasion, sometimes bringing her own books and talking about her plants. But it was mostly just Logan, which Branwen liked just fine. She didn’t have friends in training, and the adults didn’t pay much attention to her. Ma’am hadn’t even contacted her since dropping her off. But she had Logan and she had her birds. 

Eventually, they started taking her to the roof; they had noticed her imitating the bird calls in the garden, noticed her interest in naming the species, and told her they’d train her to train their eagles. She liked the eagles fine, but they were huge, and when they landed she felt a bit intimidated. They expected her to eventually whip them, too, and she didn’t want to do that, she just wanted to do the ‘beginner’s lessons’, cleaning and feeding and watching over the hatchlings. Sometimes, when it was night and she couldn’t sleep, she’d sneak to the roof and speak to the eagles, or recite poetry she’d learned with Logan. 

When she turned fourteen, things started getting strange, though. She’d notice herself watching Logan’s eyes and forgetting to look down at the book, and sometimes it happened with other people- the redhead girl who sat in front of her in Coding kept distracting her with how nice her laugh was, and the black-eyed boy in Swordfighting often found his way into her dreams, where he’d brush her hand or tuck her hair behind her ear, and she wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. 

She eventually found out when there were some girls up late in the dorms, and she crept to the edge of their circle, listening as they talked about crushes and what people they found “hot.” Martina told them that she’d already been kissed, and Pansy told them that _real_ couples made out, where they kissed for so long they stuck their tongues in each other. A few of the girls practiced on each other, some grossed out, and some saying that it wasn’t too bad. Then Chris leaned over and told them, in whispered voices, what couples _actually_ did when they were alone, beyond making out, and Branwen had quietly snuck back to her bed so she wouldn’t have to hear the girls argue whether or not that was _gross_ or _romantic_ or whatever. 

She thought on it for a while, and then when she was in the woods with I and Logan next, she waited until Logan was climbing a tree, showing them how much he’d learned about such a skill, and then she asked her about it. I got very uncomfortable, surprised that Branwen hadn’t known, and explained, “Yeah, once you hit puberty, you get attracted to people.” 

“Puberty.”

“You know, maturity. You start growing a lot and getting periods and stuff. You’ve been having those, right?” 

Branwen nodded; she’d freaked out in the bathroom until Sue came in and showed her how to get pads. “Cause our bodies get ready for babies, and when we don’t have babies the blood’s gotta go somewhere.” 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah that’s one way to put it. Anyway, we- well, when a couple is really attracted to each other they- uh, do _that,_ and sometimes that makes kids. Did you really not know this?” 

“Guess we haven’t covered it in school yet.” Branwen shrugged. She glanced up at Logan and said, “Is Logan feeling stuff like that yet?” 

“Shit, B, he’s basically my brother, you can’t just _ask that.”_

“Why?” 

“It’s just… weird.” I sighed. “Why, do you like him?” 

“Obviously. I wouldn’t visit him in my woods if I didn’t like him.” 

“No, like, do you-” 

“Oh. I think so.” 

“Great, well, you’re fourteen, so just… don’t do anything super serious til you’re older. Got it?” 

She nodded thoughtfully, and Logan swung down from the tree. “What’re you guys talkin about?” 

“Girl stuff. Show B the book you got her.” 

He’d been giving Branwen books for some time, though he knew that she couldn’t bring them home, though he wasn’t sure why. She found a bush to hide them all under, and she was ecstatic when he handed her a new book with a beautiful bird on the cover. 

She was fifteen when she had to run. 

She finally decided to go into town with Logan, and she gripped his arm tight as he led her through the streets; it was much louder than she was used to, but she trusted that he could take care of her. He took her to the ice cream parlor, which she adored, and she poured enough sprinkles to suffocate her ice cream, and then to the bookshop, where he bought her her own commonplace book, and then took her to the bridge to drop sticks and pinecones. 

He seemed to like holding her hand, and on the way to his home he was telling her all about what his chaperone was like- he called her C, and said that she and Branwen would get along great. 

They got to his apartment, and she pressed all the elevator buttons, to his amusement, and they got off at his floor and he showed her in. 

“C, this is Branwen, she lives nearby.” he said. 

Branwen shyly nodded at the woman, who was writing something in her own notebook. She glanced up. “Oh, hello. I wasn’t expecting company-” 

“We won’t be long. I wanted to show her where I worked.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Branwen said. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, sweetie, but this really isn’t a good time, L. I’ve been on and off the phone all day, a dangerous person has been spotted in town and it’s up to us to report her to the proper authorities.” 

Logan laughed nervously. “It’s not Branwen, is it? Unless her crime is being too adorable, I don’t think-” 

“Logan.” Branwen giggled. 

“No, no, it’s an adult. Dangerous arsonist- we shouldn’t talk about this around your friend, go get her some ice cream.” 

“We already had ice cream.” 

Branwen cocked her head. “Arsonist?” 

C sighed. “Yeah. I can’t explain much, it’s very classified, but she hates the people me and Logan are working for.” 

“Arsonists set fires.” Branwen repeated. 

“Yes.” C sighed. “Now go have fun somewhere while I- oh, L, actually, take this picture and give it to D and I, they might not know about this.” 

“Sure, we were gonna visit their greenhouse on the way back.” Logan said. He walked over, and Branwen followed, just close enough to see C hand her apprentice the picture. 

And when she saw it, before she could think, she said, “That’s not a criminal. That’s Ma’am.” 

Logan completely froze over. 

C looked at her confusedly. “What?” 

“That’s Ma’am. I worked for her.” Branwen said. “Til I was sent to school. She’s not dangerous, really, she-” 

She cut herself off as everything hit her at once. 

Arson. Ma’am. Training. Logan’s apprenticeship. Logan’s reading- _volunteer._ They were volunteers. They were…

She remembered the teachers talking, in low voices, about a schism in their organization. A group that was acting like they were right all the time and the others were wrong and trying to get the good group, the _true_ group in trouble. Trying to hurt them and kill them and… 

Logan was the enemy. Logan was the enemy. Logan… 

“Sweetheart,” C said, and Branwen looked up, to see that there was an understanding in her eyes. C knew, C knew they were enemies. “Sweetie, can you sit down a moment? We can talk-” 

She shook her head, spun on her heel, and ran. 

“Branwen!” Logan called after her, and he gave chase. 

He didn’t catch up to her until they were outside; she’d slid down the railing of the stairs and started racing across the street, delayed by a car rushing past, almost hitting her. She started running back, back the way they came, back to her woods, and Logan grabbed her arm. 

“Branwen, wait, let’s- look, it’s okay-” 

“It’s _not!”_

“Look, look, you're with criminals, it’s okay, we can-” 

Criminals. “You’re the criminals! You hurt us!” 

Logan’s eyes widened. “What? No, no your side starts fires and destroys knowledge. But it’s okay! You can come over to our side, we-” 

“I don’t _want to!_ You’re _wrong!”_ Everything she’d been taught, her whole life- they were wrong, we are right, don’t listen to them… 

“Branwen, _they hurt you!_ They hurt you and we can protect you-” 

Branwen broke his grip on her arm, screamed, “Stay _away_ from me!” and took off again for the woods. 

When she reached their tree, she fell down and cried. 

And when she walked back to the school, she got to the dorms and sat on her bed, and she’d only been there a few minutes when the door opened, and she looked up and Ma’am was there. 

As if Ma’am had never been gone, she leapt to her feet, standing still and casting her eyes on the ground. 

The instructor came in next. Explained that it was about time for Branwen to be chaperoned, and she might as well be chaperoned by her original employer, she was a _great_ eagle trainer. The best trainer of their organization- the best _overall_ of their organization. Ma’am was their leader, Branwen thought. 

“You leave tonight.” 

Branwen nodded, and when they left, she ran to the window and threw it open and let the wind hit her face. 

She wanted to cry again but she wasn’t sure she had tears left, and she couldn’t scream without attracting attention, so she just let the wind hit her. 

And as it did, she realized that she didn’t want to go back. 

She heard a caw, and looked down. A crow had landed on her sill, and was looking up at her. She recognized this crow from the woods, it nested near their tree. 

Their tree… 

She reached into her jacket, where she still had the commonplace book Logan had bought for her. She ripped out a page, and wrote, quick as she could-

_Ma’am bringing me home. I want to go. HELP._

She pulled a loose string from a nearby bedsheet and tied the paper to the crow’s leg. She said, in a broken voice, “Take this to Logan, _please.”_

She really hoped the crow understood, as it flew away. 

When she got back to the house, she was sent up to her room, exactly the same as how she left it, only dustier. Then she went for food, and Ma’am brushed her hair, and when Branwen muttered that it hurt, she reminded her, very firmly, not to complain. 

Branwen kept her window open that night, and watched the moon. 

The next day, she was informed that they weren’t to train eagles for a few days, so she could do her part and clean the house. It was strange, going around with her dusters and brooms and brushes. She’d forgotten parts, like the fact the doors slammed a bit too loudly and which paintings were close to falling. But she remembered the layout, remembered the stairs that creaked and she had to skip while moving about, remembered the _terror_ she felt if something looked damaged. 

She had to leave. She wanted to go with Logan and join his side, where they read and didn’t hurt people and let her _be._

The second or third night, a crow landed on her window, and cawed. 

She thought it was the same crow, and felt relief spread through her. She went forwards, and the crow dropped something in front of her. 

An apple core. 

“They’re nearby.” 

The next night, she heard a thump on her window. She slowly sat up on her bed, almost too scared to look in case she was mistaken. But then she turned, and saw his face in the window. 

She moved fast, gesturing for him to get back so she could open it. He did, and once it was pushed open, he swung his way in. “Branwen, are you okay?” was the first thing his shaking voice said, and he scanned her over. “What did she do to you?” 

She opened her mouth to respond, and instead burst into tears and threw herself at him. He threw his arms around her, hugging her back and rubbing her shoulders and telling her that he wasn’t going anywhere and she was going to come home with him and everything would be okay. 

She actually believed him. For once in her life, she believed that everything would be okay. 

“Okay, listen.” he said, when her tears had slowed and he pulled away a little, “C and D are downstairs, they’re gathering evidence from her house. We’re meeting I at the door, she’ll be standing guard. I was supposed to be waiting outside… they didn’t know you were here and I- I just- we’re getting you out of here, okay?” 

She nodded, and he put a hand on her cheek. She leaned into him, and said, “You came for me.” 

“I love you, Branwen.” It slipped out, whether or not he intended to tell her this early or not. “I won’t leave you behind. And I won’t- won’t let them hurt you anymore.” 

She intended to respond- she’d been trained very well in self-defense and actually got high marks, she could do all sorts of flips and tricks, she could hide well, she didn’t need protection- but instead she just pulled him closer to her so she could kiss him. 

She clung to him, and he grabbed her, too, and they kissed for only a moment, before he reminded her that they had to run. 

She held his hand and directed him down the hall, leaping over the loud floorboards and gesturing for him to do the same. They slid past all the rooms she hoped she’d never see again, and to the stairs, where she showed him which stairs to jump over. They ran to the bottom, and she gave him three fingers- three rooms to the exit. She jumped over furniture and slid along rugs, trying to make as little noise as possible, to make herself unnoticeable. She wouldn’t have to be unnoticeable after this, not with Logan and the other side and books and freedom… 

They were just one room away from the parlor, when she heard the cold voice behind them. “Where are you going at this hour?” 

She froze over completely. 

Logan whipped around, letting go of her hand so he could throw an arm in front of her, stepping forwards to shield her. Slowly, she turned, looking over at Ma’am, who had her arms crossed and was leaning, unbothered, against the wall. 

“I see you brought a little friend over. I don’t remember telling you you could bring boys home.” 

“Don’t touch her.” Logan snarled, and she shook; his voice went low, and every ounce of anger showed in his words. 

“I hope you’re not planning on leaving. You know what our side does to traitors. You don’t want to be a traitor, do you?” 

She shuddered and tried to keep her eyes on the ground. 

“Would you like a _reminder?_ I think you’ve been away too long.” 

Logan raised his voice, and Branwen realized he was trying to attract attention. She wondered if Ma’am knew there were others in the house. She wondered if it even mattered to her. “Stay _away_ from us! We’re leaving!” 

Ma’am stepped forwards, and suddenly Branwen felt terrified, but not or herself anymore. 

Acting almost on instinct, she grabbed Logan and pushed herself in front of him, and she said, “We’re _leaving._ And if you hurt him I will hurt you _far_ worse than you ever hurt me.” 

“I think,” Ma’am said darkly, “You’ve forgotten who is in control.” 

“No,” Branwen said, standing up straighter, “I just think you’re a bitch.” 

Logan gasped, and Ma’am ran forwards, and Branwen raced at her, slid underneath her grasping arms, leapt and kicked her from behind, before vaulting back over her to deliver a punch to the stomach. As Ma’am doubled over, hissing, Branwen said, “Training me was probably a mistake on your part.” 

“You little-” 

Branwen reached back to hit again, but Ma’am grabbed her arm and hurled her to the ground. Branwen screamed, and Logan instantly jumped forwards and leapt onto Ma’am’s back, dragging her back. Branwen jumped up just as he fell, catching him before he hit the ground, and she ducked them away from the reaching arms of the angry woman, sliding behind a table. 

He looked at her and smiled, before he said, very quickly, “Did you learn the shoulder-throw?” 

“Probably.” 

“I’ll toss you.” 

“Sounds good.” 

And within a few seconds, she flew through the air and was on Ma’am’s back, and she gave her a swift punch to the head, a smile brightening her face; she hadn’t realized how long she’d wanted this. 

“B?” 

Branwen froze and looked up, seeing I in the doorway. At that, she was thrown, and falling, and landed with a thump on the ground, and Ma’am snarled, “How many _children_ do I have to deal with tonight?” 

“B, _run!”_ I shouted, and Branwen looked up just in time to see C tackle Ma’am to the ground. 

Logan raced and grabbed Branwen’s hand, and they made it to the door while I rushed in to help, and another adult came in- D, Branwen thought. She stopped in the doorway, and turned, and waited until she was sure Ma’am saw her. 

“My name is Branwen.” she said, very calmly, “And you don’t own me anymore.” 

And then she and Logan ran. 

Logan started the car, before sliding into the backseat with her. “They should be out soon. Are you alright?” 

Instead of responding, she kissed him again, pushing him against the wall of the car. He was surprised for only a moment, before he kissed her back, and they stayed there until they heard the door slam open. 

Branwen let go, and turned, to see D rushing out, carrying something in her arms- oh no. 

No. 

D threw open the backseat doors and said, “She needs to lay down back here. We need to go, now. L, I need you to provide basic first aid.” 

She ran to the driver’s seat, and Branwen stared down at I, who was sickly pale and barely stirring, and covered in a lot of blood. 

“Where’s C?” Logan asked, his voice shaking. 

“C is dead.” was all D told them. “We need to get going, now.” She started the car, and turned to Branwen, and said, “You’re safe now, but we have to get I to headquarters for treatment.” 

Branwen nodded, and then grabbed I’s hand. “I’m sorry.” she whispered. 

I blinked open her eyes, and then shook her head. _No apologies,_ was probably what she was trying to say. 

She never got the chance to say it, because she was gone before they reached headquarters. Branwen stayed with Logan, and they held each other and cried, and fell asleep still wrapped around each other and hugging so tight they weren’t sure they could let go. 

And then the next morning, they went downstairs, and the other apprentices and members came to her, and told her they were happy to have her there, and she was one of them now. 

And she was free. 

She gave them what information she could, and she studied with them while Logan worked under one of the professors, helping the younger students. After only a little while, she started training on the roof, but not with eagles- they trained crows here. Crows to carry important things, such as spyglasses and sugar bowls and messages of hope. She cut her hair, so nobody would use it against her again, and she read poetry and sat outside and had friends and birds and _freedom._

They found her full name, too. 

She was waiting with Logan in the hotel on the day she turned eighteen. Several of her crows were outside, getting acquainted with the territory, and she was leaning against Logan, humming their song a little under her breath. 

“Took them long enough to find your family.” 

“We’re just lucky the bitch wasn’t creative enough to change my first name.” 

“Still, I- I’m sorry your parents-” 

“I always assumed they were dead.” Branwen admitted, playing with the hem of his jacket. “I’m just surprised I have cousins.” 

“I trained with them for a while, they’re pretty cool. You’ll like them, though I can _not_ tell those two apart.” 

“Three.” she glanced up at him. 

“No, pretty sure there’s two.” 

“They wrote to me, and there’s three. Frank, Ernest, Dewey.” 

“Who the _hell_ is Dewey?” 

“I guess we’ll find out.” she laughed. “Think they’ll care much that I’m gonna change my last name so soon after learning my real one, though?” 

“I feel like changing your name is gonna be the least of their worries when we tell them we’re already engaged.” 

“As if I’m going to take advice from some dicks I’m only just now meeting.” 

“And, well, technically, I _could_ take your name.” 

“Naw.” she sat up and pulled herself onto his lap, putting her arms around his shoulders and giving him a quick kiss. “You’re the one who’s getting the sapphires, we gotta have your name.” 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m getting those anyway.” 

“‘Denouement Sapphires’ has less of a ring to it, though.” 

“Is that what you’re basing your decisions on?” 

“No, I’m basing my decisions on the fact that I love you, and I’ve been planning to have your last name for years and I’m not changing that just because I now know what I was _supposed_ to be called, and _also_ I think it’s cool that your family business rhymes.” 

He gave her another quick kiss, and then said, “Seriously, though, Logan Denouement doesn’t sound that bad.” 

She laughed, and then laid her head on his shoulder. “But Branwen Quagmire sounds better.” 

He put his arms around her in a tight hug, and she smiled. 

She was eighteen, and she was free.


End file.
